Mr. Big Food is venturing off the Farm.

He’ll be in the company of folks whose necks and forearms are not red and who scoop doggie poop into plastic bags where the Dung Beetles will never find it. 

I’m sure he will have an excellent time haunting the halls that some very interesting people have haunted.

I will be going to the Cotton District Arts Festival.

A Middle-aged Delinquent with Hope

A Middle-aged Delinquent with Hope
Some escalloped sweet potato apple thing with apple juice & tumaric
I’ve shirked my responsibilities as a homemaker who eats Big Food, and has a Big Garden and lives a Big Life, and blogs about same. I’ve failed to post several recipes, and I’ve only barely managed to keep up with the food photos.

If I were prone to making excuses– and I do when I think it’s expedient!– I’d blame a spate of computer problems.

The nice thing about blogging on my new computer with my new paid for unlimited ability to  up/download stuff to the World Wide Web is that– if I choose to be– I can be reformed.

So now that Mr. Big Food no longer needs to take his computer that has a keyboard designed by a moron, and contains all of Big Food, to work with him, I might be able to easily post recipes.

I hope she doesn’t mind,

but the subject of this post is my response to my friend’s comment on this post. My friend says,

Two thumbs up. I don’t care who does what, but I certainly do not like being disparaged for what I have chosen to do. You tell ’em, M!!

And so I will talk a lot about my friend. She blogs about homemaking things. She takes lots of how-to pictures of what she bakes and cooks. She refers to a kid– and, gasp!– a husband, so be prepared.

~~


She and her husband are thinking about getting their concealed carry permits. She commented on one of the posts about this.

We once got into a ferocious discussion about grammar– not proper usage or anything so pedestrian, but about the roll grammar– “proper grammar”– has in society. She has a degree in Anthropology, so she brings a different perspective to our conversations. Plus, she’s smart. She’s done things. I think she is/was a realtor. She’s smart. I know for sure she was a waitress.

But I think she is a liberal (with a little “l”). 

Poor Dear.